


Same Old Lang Syne

by AshesOfLauren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, HP: EWE, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Songfic, Wandlore of Harry Potter OS Competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesOfLauren/pseuds/AshesOfLauren
Summary: “We drank a toast to innocenceWe drank a toast to nowWe tried to reach beyond the emptinessBut neither one knew how”Same Old Lang Syne - Dan FogelbergORHarry runs into his ex lover on Christmas Eve.





	Same Old Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Wandlore of Harry Potter Facebook group's 2017 Holiday OS Competition, and by some miracle it won FIRST PLACE! *insert shocked face* Voting just closed and the winners were announced today, so that's why it's being posted after the holidays. I hope you still enjoy it, even though it's mid January! ;)

**Same Old Lang Syne**

 

_ “We drank a toast to innocence _

_ We drank a toast to now _

_ We tried to reach beyond the emptiness _

_ But neither one knew how” _

_ Same Old Lang Syne - Dan Fogelberg _

 

“Hey mate, any chance you only need one of those?”

 

Harry looked up from where he was weighing a tin in either hand and trying hard to remember which was the brand of cranberry sauce Molly had specifically asked for as she’d bundled him up and sent him out into the snow-covered Christmas Eve night. They wouldn’t even be needing it until the following evening when they had the traditional, monstrous Christmas dinner Molly always cooked, but when he’d voiced as much all he’d gotten was a firm “ _ Don’t sass me, young man, and tie your scarf before you leave,” _ a kiss on the cheek, and a woolen hat stuffed on his head. So, that was that. He was braving the market at nine o’clock at night on Christmas Eve with about a million other unlucky souls, most of which were men who he’d guess had been sent on similar hunts by their own mothers or wives.

 

“It’s just,” the man continued, “my wife asked me last week to pick up the cranberry sauce, and I completely forgot, so at this point I’m desperate. I don’t even care which brand. My  _ mother-in-law _ will be in for tea tomorrow, and cranberry sauce is her favorite. I, of course, am not, and I’ll be even less so if we don’t have any, so…” He trailed off in his rambling, looking hopeful.

 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry said, sticking out a hand at random. Honestly, he was starting to think that neither of these last two tins of cranberry sauce were the requested brand, so anything would do.

 

The man smiled gratefully, gushed, “Thanks, mate, and happy Christmas!” and bustled off to the checkout line, his posture significantly more relaxed. Harry smiled to himself. If he had to be out and about on Christmas Eve instead of curled up by the fire with his best friends and a mug of hot chocolate, at least he could make someone happy. Even though he didn’t actually do anything other than hand him a tin, but still, it was something.

 

With a content grin still on his face, Harry turned to make a quick lap of the store, thinking he could maybe find some of those mini pumpkin pasties he liked so much (and that Molly frowned upon -  _ “Honestly, Harry, store bought?” _ ) to munch on as he made his way back to the Burrow. A shock of platinum blonde hair had him stopping in his tracks, grin sliding from his face and tin tumbling from his grip with a muted thud. He stared at the back of the man’s head as his heart hammered and his mind raced.

 

He should just turn the other way, check out, and leave. That’s what he should do. That’s what a sane person would do. It had been  _ three years _ since they’d spoken, for Merlin’s sake. There was nothing left to say.

 

But it was Christmas, and just walking away as if the person who used to be the world to him wasn’t stood within arms reach just seemed wrong. It wasn’t even an option.

 

Harry took a deep breath and tentatively reached out, touching the sleeve of the other man’s coat. The man turned to face him, face flitting almost immediately from annoyance to shock, grey eyes wide with surprise. “Oh,” he breathed, just barely audible.

 

“Hello, Draco,” Harry said in what he hoped came across as a supremely casual way. He thought he probably failed by a bit considering his heart was lodged in his throat and making everything come out all squeaky, but he’d tried, alright?

 

Draco quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral as he cleared his throat, and Harry felt a little pang as the all too familiar mask of indifference - so familiar, even after all these years -  was slipped into place. “Potter,” he said, and okay, the use of his surname kind of hurt. “What a surprise, seeing you here. How are you?” he asked formally.

 

Harry shifted a bit nervously on his feet. “Good, erm, good. I’ve been good. Everything is… good. And you?”

 

“Good,” Draco replied smoothly.

 

Awkward silence took over for a moment, and no, that just wouldn’t do. “Why the fuck are we being so formal?” Harry laughed, albeit a bit manically. “Jesus, happy Christmas, Draco. C’mere.” He stepped forward with more confidence than he felt, wrapping his arms around Draco’s shoulders and hugging him quickly before he lost his nerve. Draco stood frozen for a long moment, the muscles of his back tense under Harry’s sweaty palms, and by the time he reacted and lifted his arms to reciprocate, Harry was already stepping back, cheeks flushed pink. He knocked backward into the shopping basket dangling in Draco’s grip, and it fell to the linoleum with a clatter, pie crusts and apples crashing around them and rolling throughout the aisles.

 

“Shit, sorry!” Harry apologized. His face was absolutely flaming by now. “Here, lemme just--” he started as he bent to scoop up the items. Draco simply stood rigid in the same spot like a statue as Harry collected his groceries and deposited them back into the basket. He grasped the handle and stood slowly, holding it out for Draco to take. “There you go. Sorry about that,” he said again, and yep, it was definitely getting awkward now, and he definitely should have just left and not talked to him, and he was definitely making a fool of himself, and Draco definitely did not want to see him, and---

 

“Walk with me,” Draco said, and without waiting for a response, he made his way to the front of the store to the checkout line. Harry blinked after him for a beat before scrambling to catch up. Maybe it was a little pathetic how eagerly he jumped into action, how willing he was to do exactly what Draco asked of him, even after all this time, but he didn’t care. His friends weren’t around to judge him, and his ex lover knew all too well the power he’d always held over Harry, so fuck it. He’d take these few moments with him and deal with the consequences later.

 

He caught up with Draco as he was unloading his basket onto the belt. The apples were a little beat up and bruised from their tumble on the floor, but Draco either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The cashier, a teenage boy with greasy hair and the most prominent “I hate my job” expression on his face that Harry had ever seen, took his sweet time ringing up the items, which would have been no big deal for Harry usually, but with every passing second the uncomfortable tension grew, and he wanted nothing more than to get outside into the fresh air where maybe, just maybe, he’d feel like he could breathe.

 

Finally all the food was bagged, and Draco paid for his haul. He motioned for Harry to follow him as he made his way outside. The snow was still falling steadily, the air crisp and fresh, and Harry was right: he could breathe more easily out here. Draco stopped a little ways down from the entrance to the shop, and when he turned to face Harry, he was surprised to see cracks in that oh-so-carefully manufactured mask, hesitancy and uncertainty leaking through the seams.

 

“It’s--” Draco started, his voice coming out thin and strained. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time. Honestly, you’re probably the last person I expected to see tonight. Perhaps… perhaps we could grab a quick drink and catch up? If you’re not in too much of a hurry.”

 

Harry knew he was trying to sound confident and unaffected, but he knew Draco too well. Time couldn’t erase how familiar he’d once become with every expression, every tone that Draco possessed. He could hear the vulnerability and uncertainty in his voice, though he refused to let himself dwell on it and what it might mean. It had taken him nearly the entirety of the last three fucking years to finally snuff out the stubborn flames of hope that roared in his chest. That goddamn, boundless, optimistic hope that was at the core of who Harry was. That hope that had time and time again saved his life. That hope that could cause him unimaginable pain and heartache.

 

_ “I’d love to, but I really need to be getting back. Maybe some other time.”  _ It’s what he should say. Every self preservation instinct he possessed was fighting to push the words from his throat, to make his muscles move him in the other direction.

 

But Draco was standing in front of him after three years of  _ nothing _ , a beautiful red flush high up on the apples of his cheeks and snowflakes clinging to the tips of his silky hair and his translucent eyelashes and his fucking posh black coat. Draco was biting his thin bottom lip between his teeth unconsciously, his eyes growing wider and closer to alarmed by the second. Draco was asking for his company, if only for a handful of minutes, and Harry was powerless, so, so weak and powerless to refuse him anything.

 

“Sure,” he found himself saying with very little surprise. “The Leaky is just around the corner. Shall we..?”

 

Relief washed over Draco’s features, and it was like he didn’t even try to hide it. Like he was willing to let Harry see who he was, what he was thinking, if only for that one moment. “Yes, please,” he replied, motioning for Harry to lead the way. He fell into step alongside him with plenty of space between them to ensure their arms didn’t graze as they walked, which Harry was both grateful for and put out by.

 

The walk to the Leaky Cauldron was silent, but not uncomfortably so, as it took less than two minutes. Draco reached for the door and held it open for Harry who ducked in with a small smile of thanks. The smile morphed into a frown when he took in his surroundings. The place was completely empty, save for a barmaid who was coaxing chairs on top of tables while a broom and dustpan whizzed around the floor. “Erm, excuse me,” Harry called out.

 

The Christmas carol the young woman had been humming cut off as she looked up. “Oh, hullo!” she greeted cheerfully. “Sorry mates, pub’s closed for the evenin’. Usually we’re open ‘til midnigh’ on Christmas Eve, but ole Tom’s gotten himself a date and decided to close up shop a wee bit early.” She grinned widely like it was the best news she’d ever delivered.

 

Harry blinked a few times in surprise, images of hunchbacked, snaggle-toothed Tom chatting over Christmas wine with a faceless lady flooding his brain. It was definitely odd to picture, but it was nice. Very nice. Harry found himself being quite happy for the cantankerous old man. Everyone should have someone on Christmas. He tried not to let his thoughts turn too wistful at that.

 

“That’s alright,” Draco spoke from beside him. “Perhaps we could simply purchase a bottle of your best whiskey to go? Name your price.” He looked and sounded polite but determined, and yes, quite charming in a not-trying-too-hard kind of way. He… well, he just looked like  _ Draco _ , Harry supposed. A man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. That is, until he changed his mind. Until he decided he didn’t want it anymore…

 

But no, Harry was not letting his thoughts go there. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever again hopefully. He’d put it behind him. He’d moved on. He could do this. One night, one drink, one short, polite, trivial conversation. He was strong enough for this.

 

“Afraid the best we’ve got unopened is some Ogden’s, love,” the barmaid answered as she rummaged behind the bar, pulling Harry out of his own head. “Will that do?”

 

Draco nodded beside him as he dug in his pockets for a few coins. The barmaid regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, and just as Draco was pulling his hand from his pocket, she shook her head saying, “It’s on the house.”

 

Draco blinked a bit in surprise, and Harry found himself flushing slightly under the pretty lady’s gaze that stated that she  _ knew _ . She didn’t know who or what they were to one another, of course, but Harry could see in her eyes that she knew this wasn’t just two friends sharing a Christmas Eve drink, that there was something tense and unsettled around them, and perhaps she’d taken pity on them. He was only allowed a moment to dwell on this however before Draco was nodding his thanks and easing back toward the door. “We appreciate your kindness,” he said. “Happy holidays.”

 

“Merry Christmas, ma’am. And thanks a lot,” Harry added.

 

The barmaid just smiled. “Merry Christmas, loves, and may your new year be full of new joy and wisdom and lacking past years’ sorrows and mistakes!”

 

_ Well,  _ that’s _ a loaded farewell _ , Harry thought. He shook his head slightly, focusing on the more pressing current issue. “So… where to now?” he asked.

 

Draco looked around thoughtfully for a moment before pointing across the street. “There’s a park just over that hill with a little bench under an awning. We could just sit there for a bit, stay well enough out of the snow?” He sounded unsure again but definitely hopeful, so of course Harry easily agreed.

 

Again, the walk was silent but short, and before he knew it, Harry was perching beside his ex on a freezing metal bench in a children’s park in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve while snow fell in curtains around them. Certainly not where he’d thought his night was headed just a half hour ago, but he’d take it in stride.

 

Draco broke the seal on the whiskey bottle and popped the top off. He looked around for a moment like he was trying to find something to transfigure into a couple of glasses, but Harry just rolled his eyes and took the bottle from his gloved hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep, burning swig. He wiped the back of his freezing hand across his mouth with a satisfied little hiss and tipped the bottle back toward Draco. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the corner of the other man’s mouth lift just the tiniest fraction before he wrapped his elegant fingers around the bottle’s neck and took his own sip.

 

Draco eyed the rim of the bottle thoughtfully before diving back in for another swig. Harry smiled to himself and furiously began rubbing his own hands together, bringing them to his mouth and attempting to breathe some warmth back into them. Unlike Draco, he’d not been smart enough to wear his gloves, though to be fair he hadn’t thought he’d be lounging outside this evening.

 

The two let the spirit settle for a moment in their stomachs. The silence was becoming heavy now, and Harry thought frantically for something to say. Something light and safe and bland that would fill the gaping hole where chatter should be.

 

So, naturally, he said the heaviest thing he possibly could have.

 

“I saw your wedding announcement in the  _ Prophet _ .”

 

_ What the fuck? What the actual fuck is wrong with me? _

 

Harry winced as Draco’s brows drew tight together and his mouth set in a hard, thin line. His sharp jaw worked for just a moment before his face completely relaxed, eyes carefully blank. “Yes, Astoria’s mother and mine wrote the piece. Two and a half years ago, when we were married and the article came out,” he added, the ‘ _ so why the fuck are you bringing up this old news now? _ ’ left unspoken.

 

“Right,” Harry said quietly. “Erm, the uh… The picture was lovely. She’s a beautiful girl.” Why couldn’t he stop talking about her? Oh Merlin, make it stop…

 

Draco sighed heavily. “She’s always been a pretty lady, as are all the women in her family, yes. And before you ask, she’s well, I’m well, we are both happy with where we are in our relationship. Now can we please stop talking about it? Because as hard as we’re both trying to pretend this is normal, it’s actually awkward as fuck, Potter, and you know it.”

 

Stormy grey eyes pleaded with Harry, and as the absurdity of the situation caught up with him, he couldn’t help it: he burst into laughter. He brought both of his hands up to cover his mouth at Draco’s unimpressed look, but it did nothing to stifle his hilarity. Harry could see the fight on Draco’s face, the war within him to remain stoic and unfazed, and he also saw the moment he lost that battle. Draco’s face split into a wide grin as he chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. His perfect teeth gleamed white and his stylishly cut hair swayed into his eyes. _ God, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful he is. _

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Draco murmured, but he was still smiling softly. “And here, for Merlin’s sake, put these on before you lose a finger. The Wizarding world at large would certainly blame me if you were unable to compete properly due to loss of limb.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a spare pair of gloves. They were some sort of leather, probably dragon’s hide, and felt like butter in Harry’s hands.

 

“Thanks,” he said. “Remind me to give them back to you when we, erm… When we go our separate ways later.”

 

Draco simply waved him off carelessly. “So, how is it?” he asked.

 

Harry frowned in confusion. “The gloves?” he asked after a moment.

 

Draco snorted and said, “No, you tosser. Playing. Quidditch. Professionally,” he elaborated slowly, teasingly, and wow, Harry had missed this side of him. This playful, carefree version of Draco that he sometimes wondered if he was the only person to have ever seen. Of course he wasn’t; he was married now, and his wife probably was blessed with Draco’s dry, sarcastic humor and playful wit all the time. Harry tried very hard not to be jealous of that. Harry also failed.

 

“Right, right. It’s good.” Draco raised a brow that clearly said he wasn’t convinced. “No, really it is. Mostly.” Harry sighed. “I love the game, and the fans are outstanding, but travelling all the time kind of sucks. It was exciting for a bit, but now… It just gets exhausting.”

 

Draco nodded in understanding. “I, erm…” He cleared his throat. “I’d imagine it makes relationships a bit difficult, being away from your partner so often?” he asked carefully. That lovely pink tint was back on his cheeks, and he looked quite like he wished he could take the question back.

 

Harry blinked at him for a moment, heart beating a bit faster and a flush making its way onto his own face. _ Is he fishing for information on my love life? Why does he even _ care _?  _ Harry coughed uncomfortably before answering honestly. “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t been in a relationship since--”  _ Since you. _ “In several years,” he settled on.

 

Draco looked… relieved. He actually looked relieved at this information, and Harry was left more confused than ever. Should he be hurt? Did Draco just not want him to be happy? Was he just relieved because that meant they didn’t have to have the whole  _ ‘who is he, what’s he like’  _ awkward conversation? Was he happy because that meant that Harry was single…?

 

No, no, no. He was not going there. He wasn’t about to let that fire of hope ignite again. Draco was a married man. Hell, he probably was going to be a dad eventually. The thought made Harry’s stomach twist. So, no. There was no hope to be had. He’d do good to remember that so he could pull himself out of the bed in the morning when all he was left with once again was the memory of Draco’s smile and voice and smell.

 

“As for my friendships,” Harry said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, “those are hanging on. I don’t think anything could actually tear me away from Ron and Hermione, or the rest of the Weasleys for that matter.”

 

Draco smirked, but there was no malice behind it. “So did those two ever marry then?” he asked.

 

Harry shook his head and reached for the bottle that had nearly been forgotten, taking another swig before he answered. “Nah, they want to wait a bit longer. They got a flat together a year and a half ago, and that’s been going really well. They’re happier than ever. Just want to live together for a while before tying the knot. Drives Molly crazy,” he grinned.

 

Draco laughed lightly. He took the bottle Harry passed back to him and took three long pulls, then his face lit up. “Oh!” he exclaimed, thrusting the bottle in Harry’s lap who just laughed and sipped, intensely relieved by the comfortable banter they were falling into. “Could you believe it about Longbottom and Parkinson? I swear to Salazar, I thought she was pulling some prank when she told me. It took some, uh, drastic measures to convince me actually.”

 

Harry laughed at the way Draco’s face scrunched up in a cringe. “What kind of measures?”

 

Draco shot him a dark look. “Those two are kinky as fuck, Potter. Do you know what a mobile is?” Harry nodded. “Apparently Pansy has to have one for her job - she works at the Muggle liaison office, which I’m sure you know since Granger does as well - and apparently these things can record videos. Like, hours worth of videos. And… let’s just say twenty seconds was all it took to convince me.” He shuddered and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

 

Harry barked out a loud laugh at the look on Draco’s face. “Oh! Oh my God! No! No, tell me she didn’t!” he roared. Tears were rolling down his face and he was clutching his aching sides as he doubled over, shaking with his laughter.

 

Draco, clearly delighted by Harry’s reaction, let out a loud laugh of his own. “She did! It was awful. And then the bitch expected me to sit through dinner with them two nights later! I was humiliated. Thank God she didn’t seem to have told Longbottom what had happened. He looked more confused by my inability to look him in the eye than horrified. Otherwise, I don’t think either of us would have survived it.”

 

After that, conversation flowed as freely as the whiskey that they were quickly decimating. Draco told him a few hilarious stories about his adventures at his job. He worked as a representative for international affairs for Gringotts, and it often left him in some sticky and questionable situations involving his goblin colleagues.

 

Harry knew Draco loved his work and was thankful for the position he’d been able to secure. His father, of course, would have preferred for him to work for the Ministry directly, but as he was currently in Azkaban for the next 15 or so years, he really didn’t have much say in the matter. Harry figured the man was probably just relieved that his only son had evaded prison time and was holding a “respectable” position in a wealthy market.

 

The truth was, no matter Lucius Malfoy’s many, many faults, Draco would always on some level want his approval. Possibly more than anything else. It was why he’d married Astoria, after all.

 

Draco had loved Harry. He knew that. Even though the other man had never said the words out loud, Harry knew and had never doubted it. He’d suspected sometime after the first month they’d spent seeking one another out in the middle of the night during 6th year, at first for a fight but so quickly for something even better, something more, something they’d been leading to since meeting one another. He’d thought he might feel the same about Draco, as little sense as it made.

 

When Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been held captive at Malfoy Manor and he’d seen the absolute terror in his grey eyes, and when Draco had reached his hand out toward Harry as if he wanted to join him as Dobby had disappeared with them, Harry had known without a doubt.

 

By some miracle they’d both survived the war, and they’d had nearly a year secluded away from everyone else, content in their private bubble when Harry wasn’t out doing his public figure duties. Trying through touch more than words to heal the wounds they both harbored inside them.

 

But after Lucius’ sentencing, the fear and pressure to rebuild his and his mother’s lives had fallen solely on Draco, and he’d had to make a decision.

 

Harry knew in his heart he’d made the wrong one, but what was done was done. Harry wasn’t going to spend these precious minutes dwelling in the past. He re-focused his attention on Draco’s story.

 

“So Geengling glared at me in total alarm for about five minutes while Weasley finished up the paperwork he needed,” Draco was saying through his laughter. “I turned to Bill as soon as the goblin had left and asked what the fuck all that was about. He said, ‘You really need to work on your Gobbledegook, Malfoy. What were you trying to say?’ I told him I’d meant to say that it had been a pleasure to meet him, and Weasley laughed so hard I thought he was going to pass out. Apparently I’d said I wanted to  _ pleasure _ him.”

 

Harry laughed until he was nearly wheezing, and Draco seemed just as amused at his own misfortune. Eventually they began to settle down, and a contented, happy hush filled the night air. The whiskey was long gone, but its warmth remained in Harry’s veins. Or perhaps it was Draco’s warmth, he noticed with a start, because somehow over the last hour they’d ended up pressed flush to one another’s sides on the bench. The realization sobered him somewhat, and he asked before he could stop himself, “Are you happy, Draco?”

 

Draco’s smile settled into something more serious. His beautiful, captivating eyes searched Harry’s, and he was quiet for so long that Harry thought he’d decided not to answer. “I am,” he finally said softly. His eyes were guarded and thoughtful, but all Harry could hear in his voice was honesty.

 

Harry had to swallow three times around the lump in his throat before he responded. “I’m glad,” he choked out. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” The words were nearly impossible to get out, but they were the truth and Draco deserved them.

 

The other man abruptly took a breath and opened his mouth to speak before snapping it closed again. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at Harry like he was trying to decide on something. Harry held his breath as his pulse quickened, though he didn’t quite know why. Draco’s mouth trembled open once more on an inhale just as somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.

 

Harry started and turned toward the sound for only a split second, but when he turned back the moment had passed. Draco once again looked like his cool, calm, and collected self, and he rose slowly from the bench, dusting a few stray snowflakes that had snuck their way underneath the awning from his trouser legs.

 

Beside him, Harry pulled himself shakily to his feet, his arms dangling limply at his side. This was it. His time was up. It was time to let Draco go again. He didn’t know if he could bear it.

 

_ He’s happy _ , he told himself.  _ He said he’s happy, and that’s all that matters. That’s enough. It’ll always have to be enough. _

 

“Well,” Draco said after a moment. “It’s been lovely being able to catch up. Thank you for the pleasure of your company tonight. I’m… I’m truly very glad I ran into you,” he added after a moment, and it sounded so sincere that something in Harry’s mangled heart twisted.

 

“Me too,” Harry said, and the two words felt much heavier, much more honest than two simple syllables should. He stuck his hand out to shake Draco’s. When he noticed the borrowed gloves he still wore, he made to remove them.

 

“No, keep them,” Draco said quickly. “It’s a good walk from here to your nearest Floo point.” Harry started to protest, but Draco cut him off. “I have about a hundred pair. Honestly, it’s fine. I insist.” He smiled wryly. “Call it your Christmas gift.”

 

Harry smiled back sadly. “But I didn’t get you anything,” he pointed out.

 

“Sure you did.” Draco held up the empty bottle of Ogden’s. “Let’s be honest. The only reason we got this for free is because you’re Harry ‘The Saviour’ Potter. So technically, you got this for us.” He grinned at Harry, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

Harry simply conceded with a nod. “Thank you.” The two stared at one another for a moment, memories and words both spoken and unsaid swirling like the snowflakes around them. “Happy Christmas, Draco,” he said softly. He made to reach out once again, intending to shake his hand, but Draco stepped quickly into his space and pulled him into a loose hug.

 

Unlike Draco had earlier, Harry responded instantly, wrapping his arms maybe a little too tightly, too intimately around Draco’s waist. He closed his eyes against the stinging in them and inhaled deeply, trying to ensure he’d remember the scent he’d never actually forgotten, trying to burn the feel of Draco’s hands on his back into his brain the same way they were burning into his skin.

 

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Draco finally murmured. He pulled back slowly and gently from the embrace, and Harry thought he felt cold lips ghost over his temple for a fraction of a second before they parted completely. Draco regarded him for another long moment before he turned his back and walked away.

 

Harry stared at the retreating figure until he was completely out of sight, and then he turned in the opposite direction to make his way back to the Burrow. The walk toward the Floo point was nothing but a blur. It could have been minutes or hours later, he honestly didn’t know, when he looked up and realized he’d long since passed the Floo station and was instead well outside of the anti-Apparition boundaries of Diagon Alley. Harry shook his head at himself. He was simultaneously numb and in emotional overdrive, and he had no idea how he was supposed to begin to get himself back on an even plane. He took a deep breath, willing himself to concentrate so as not to splinch himself, and Disapparated with a pop.

 

Harry rematerialized right outside of the Weasley’s garden fence, and he unlatched the gate with fingers that were numb despite the well insulated gloves he still had on. He walked up the path in a daze and found himself just staring inside the house. Ron and Hermione were curled together on several oversized, fluffy pillows in front of the fire and buried underneath a mountain of knitted blankets, glasses of wine and plates of cheeses spread out in front of them. They’d obviously been waiting up for Harry to return but had succumbed to exhaustion where they sat.

 

It was then that Harry remembered what he’d left the house for in the first place. The cranberry sauce. He’d never even gotten the cranberry sauce.

 

He looked up to the night sky, blinking rapidly. As the first tears fell down his cheeks, the snow turned into rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm toying with the idea of a sequel, so let me know if that's something you'd be interested in! Much love!


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